Beautiful Labyrinth
by babyvfan
Summary: She was destruction, chaos, sins, with beauty and enigma dripping from her fingertips. She made you feel so special, important, unique yet painstakingly inadequate. Despite it all, she still loved her. *fem Drarry. Girl Harry, girl Draco*


**So far this year I've been doing guy-on-guy. I wanna try my hand at girl-on-girl, though-fair warning-this is definitely heavier compared to my other stories. And I definitely can't take full credit on the story alone. It was based off this amazing fem-drarry Tumblr post by parseltonquinq. Once I saw it, I knew I had to make it into a story. I hope you like. Please tell me what you think.**

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 **Beautiful Labyrinth**

 _I wanna be a bottle blonde_

 _I don't know why but I feel conned_

 _I wanna be an idle teen_

 _I wish I hadn't been so clean_

 **Now:**

It was funny. She was hot.

Not hot as in attractively-hot, though she heard enough rumors from the gossips and unworthies that she was voted as one of the school's most beautiful. She was a different sort of it. Hot as in when your body felt trying to sleep in a stuffy room in the middle of August with no AC or fan to lower the suffocating temperature. Hot as in when you're forced to leave the cool comfort of an air-conditioned building and go back back to the sweltering heat outside where the sun was beaming down on you so hard, your skin breaks out into sweat in a matter of seconds. Hot as in when every cell of your body, every inch of skin felt like it was caught on fire whenever the person you liked- _really_ really liked-looked at you, smiled at you, or kissed you.

She felt that hot, which had absolutely no sense. It was the middle of a cold October, though the atmosphere of the chilled and somber room, heavy with such sadness and pain and mourning, might as well have belonged to December. Plus, there was the matter of the AC some idiot decided to put on, setting the machine to the highest level, blowing powerful gushes of cool air from the ceiling as if their grief were beads of sweat that could easily be wiped away.

If only it were that easy.

She wished it were that easy.

The only thing it managed to do was tightened the nerves grinding her intensities into mush while covering her sleeveless arms with goosebumps. Though it did nothing to diminish the heat blaring through her body, making her almost dizzy.

She couldn't pin the blame on the freezing cold alone.

The fault lied in the piercing emeralds that were the brightest yet deepest shade of green she had ever seen. Eyes that easily heated or chilled depending on the owner's mood. That could cut deeper than a knife with a glare that was harsher, colder than the worst of words, making you feel lower than dirt. That could make you feel like the you had the world at the palm of your hand or your body as well as your mind was under the spell of the most delicious, amazing liquor that made you feel like the world was the spinning and you were the star when they smiled at you.

Now, in a flimsy piece of glossy paper instead of the actual thing, those vivid emerald greens still had an effect on her.

Everything was a buzzing, numbing hum. She was fading in and out through most of the service, her body burning, stomach tightening, heart grinding and grinding. She could make out some of the sounds of the speeches. She definitely could make out the crying that ranged from misty-eyed, tears pouring like heavy rain, to full-out wailing in between words. More than once one person had to pause their speech or start over together, needing a minute to clear the tears, to compose themselves. But throughout it all, her eyes, gray and luminous (so she's been told), were focused on emerald green.

"Lyra?" Her godfather didn't touch her but the sound of his voice, the concern that softened the usual snark, was practically a gentle hand placed on her shoulder.

She blinked, causing a large tear to escape from her hold and roll down her pale cheek. Several tears followed as she blinked again in a desperate attempt to gain back control. To stop the ache stretching inside her chest from completely taking over. To stop the warmth causing her shake and squirm.

She didn't answer to the sound of her name. Her eyes were still locked on emerald green that bright were light and playfulness from the picture, as if the girl knew a secret that was delicious but refused to share it with anyone. She studied of the picture, committing every feature to memory.

Long, raven-black hair streaked with red and wild, a perfect match for her untamable personality. Creamy skin tinted with gold. Full, pink lips fixed into a smirk, as if she caught you red-handed. And those eyes. Eyes too bright to be compared to the forest yet too deep to be considered grass, eyes that were wide-set and framed with incredibly black lashes, lit with such light-hearted mischievous that was the perfect companion for her devious smirk.

Altogether those features made a girl. A girl that was pretty, beautiful even but a different type of beautiful. Not beautiful like the doll-perfect, stick-figured models plastered on pages of fashion magazines. Not even beautiful like she herself was categorized: regal and classic. Well put together. No, the girl was the wild sort of beautiful. The type that looked like nothing could pin her, no matter how much you tried. The type that was so unbelievable, she was almost a dream, which you often thought. The type that some would simplify as a hot-mess but still irresistible, still intoxicating, still beautiful. All of which made Harriet Potter.

"She was beautiful," Granger said when it was her turn to step up to the microphone. She looked nothing like the annoying book-worm know-it-all she ordinarily took pleasure cutting down. She looked how she felt. How everyone in the service felt: hopeless, lost, and in pain. So much pain. "As beautiful as she was magnificent. Like a star. But…" Tears filled in the girl's eyes, her bottom lip trembling. "I think that was the problem. She was so bright, she burnt out. The world couldn't sustain the radiance she shined."

She sucked in a sharp breath as if a fist was slammed against her gut. Granger continued on, oblivious to her anguish.

"There was a movie Harry loved so much. She always insisted we see it at sleepovers. It was called _Gia_. A model who was a lot like her. So beautiful, so alive. And so troubled. There was a quote from the movie-well actually more so on the case-that summed up the model. It's also one that I think best describes Harry," She cleared her throat that was clogged with sobs she struggled to keep in. Her hands, her entire body in fact, was shaking as she read. " _Too beautiful to die. Too wild to live_."

Too beautiful to die. Too wild to live.

Beautiful and wild.

Those words were just right when they came to her.

She looked at the picture of the smirking girl, forever beautiful, forever young. As much as it hurt her to continue looking at it, staring at her emerald eyes that made her feel alive and inadequate, extraordinary yet ordinary, she didn't dare turn over to the right. Where the hollow husk that was once the smirking, beautiful, wild girl laid inside the black, sealed casket.

She didn't dare turn to that casket. As painful as it was to look at the picture, she knew her heart, or what remained of it, would be crushed into pieces if she looked at it.

The service passed through a mass of speeches, shared memories, and tears. There were so many tears; it could fill up the entire church from ground to the ceiling, covering the bell tower.

Through it all her eyes stayed locked on the picture, on the beautiful green-eyed girl who was no longer alive. She didn't break when the girl's godfather, one she often spoke fondly of, wasn't able to finish his piece, dropping down on his knees, his body shaking as he wept so desperately, he needed help getting off the stage. She didn't break when Granger and Weasley set up a slide show showing the girl's special hits, featuring many pictures of her sending a smirk over to the photographer, smiling and laughing into the camera, even though the sight and sound twisted her heart.

But her control started to snap towards the end as the song came on towards the end of the service as the casket was carried out.

 _The wasted years_

 _The wasted youth_

 _The pretty lies_

 _The ugly truth_

 _And the day has come where I have died_

 _Only to find, I've come alive_

She couldn't get out of the room fast enough, muttering to Severus that she would meet him at the car, pushing and elbowing her way through the crowd, ignoring the odd and dark looks she received.

She ran to the restroom. She nearly collapsed when she reached the sink, feeling like the world was closing in on her. Like all the oxygen was leaking out of her body. Like she was about to combust any second.

She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto her face, not caring about the makeup she spent nearly an hour applying, needing something to diminish the heat. To stop the nausea that punched and kicked her.

Gasping, she looked up at her reflection. Shockingly-bright platinum blonde hair rested on top of her head, tied in a tight ballerina bun. Her complexion was ghostly pale instead of porcelain fair, as if she had looked into the eyes of terror itself. Her eyes were dimmed and rimmed red, as if she were hungover. Or spent the last few hours, more so days, crying.

People would be stunned if they saw her right now. Lyra Malfoy, the Ice Princess of Hogwarts, reduced to weeping, pathetic little girl.

Only one person saw that little girl underneath the ice-queen. Was able to thwart through the ice as if it were nothing.

And now that same person was dead.

She bit her lip so hard, she could feel blood leaking from the wound, filling her mouth.

She barely had time to wash her face again before the bathroom door swung open. For a spilt moment, she thought it was Granger. Or, heaven forbid, her father. Even though that possibility was far-fetched, it could happen. Life was funny like that. It was definitely that cruel.

Instead it was a small girl with light blonde hair and bright blue eyes dressed in a long black dress and half-moon earrings. There was a dreamy look in her eyes, and her lips quirked into a smile, the first she seen that wasn't watery or sad, even though a twinge of it slipped in.

"Lyra," Lovegood said, not the least bit the surprised that the Ice-Queen of their school was in the bathroom with black mascara streaked on her cheeks, her make-up ruined. "I'm so glad you made it."

Before she could get a word out, the smaller girl continued on, saying "I saw you slipped in a few minutes before the service started."

She thought she was discrete. She did sit in the last aisle with her uncle. She made sure to dress for the part without raising eyebrows. A simple, sleeveless black dress, a black scarf to hide her hair, and huge Chanel sunglasses to mask her face, concealing her eyes that would have been a dead give-away. She knew if she appeared as herself, people would ask questions, make accusations.

But not Lovegood. The girl always seemed to know something. Like now. There was an almost-knowing look that entered her dreamy eyes as she looked at her.

"I was just leaving." She ripped a paper towel out from the dispenser and wiped her face.

"Before you do that, there's something I need to give you." Lovegood reached inside her huge, violet-purple knitted bag and brought out a book, handing it over to her.

At first glance, Lyra thought it was a large version of the Bible or some sort of grief-counseling book. Till she caught sight of the cover. To most people the book would be ordinary if it wasn't for the stickers, quotes from favorite songs and books and people, and doodles plastered on it. The words, _Tenderly Totally Tragically_ , were imprinted in the center, each word stacked underneath the other in a swirl of black and red ink.

Harry's book.

" _I don't understand why you love lugging that thing around."_

 _She looked up from the page she was scribbling on, green eyes smirking at that the gray eyes that watched her while she was draped across the bed, lost in the pages of her book. "Because it's a special book."_

" _You show that thing affection as if it were pet or something."_

" _Jealous, Malfoy?" A smirk spread across her face, a knowing look gleaming in her eyes that was infuriating._

 _She scowled, despite the warmth that fluttered in her stomach as she watched that smirk blossom. "Don't be stupid, Potter. I don't know why you're in love with it. It's just a book."_

 _The black-haired girl sat up in the bed, crossing her slim legs. The strap of her black camisole was slipping but she paid no mind to it, recapping her purple pen. "It's not just a book."_

" _Oh, pardon me," Rolling her eyes, she corrected herself. "It's a sketchbook."_

" _Wrong," Harry announced. "It's my book."_

" _Your book?" Inky-black waves practically bounced as the owner nodded her head. Her hair would be more controlled, or at least less messy, if she put products in it. Or go to the hair-stylist she recommended, but that was a battle she lost forfeit, knowing the girl wouldn't be swayed. "Of what?"_

 _She shrugged, causing the strip to fall completely, showing a generous amount of skin that looked so inviting. So tempting. Lyra forced herself to remain at her seat even though almost every cell of her body was attracted to that beautiful skin. "Sketches, lyrics, quotes, journal entries. Everything and anything that has to do with me."_

 _Lyra scoffed. "There isn't enough paper in the world."_

" _Speak for yourself, Malfoy."_

 _She tossed a pillow at her. Harry dodged it with ease, laughing._

A part of her wanted to burn the book right then and there. To take out her lighter and watch every page, every sticker, every inch of it go up in smoke. Another part of her wanted it to be buried six feet deep into the ground, so that it could be with its owner, knowing how much the girl treasured it.

Somehow though, those parts weren't in control of her body as she reached for the book, tracing the cover with her hand, as if it were fine china that needed to handle with the utmost care.

"You loved her, Lyra." The words made her blood turn to ice-cold, chilling every one of her veins. Lovegood took a step forward, her eyes practically had her pinned to the wall. She couldn't move. She could barely breathe. "And she loved you. She loved you so much, she didn't know what to do. She didn't know how to handle it."

And just like that, the heat exploded in a mass of heat, melting the ice that frosted her veins, burning everything within sight.

She would have given anything to have that heat burn the strange, pixie-like girl into ashes.

"You don't know _anything_ , Loony." she snarled, making sure to knock hard into the girl as she left the restroom, tears burning her eyes.

 **So...what do you think? Good? Yes? No? Should I continue? Please review.**


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